Dance!
by stick-figure-jesus
Summary: Kira Izuru is a young ballet dancer, newly relocated from rural to urban. Now enrolled in a prestigious Russian dance academy, who knows what kind of new people he'll meet and dances he'll learn? AU
1. Un, Deux, Trois!

He was an isolated boy, Kira Izuru was. Sixteen years old with a lean, strong body from the years of dance. But not just any kind of dance.

Ballet.

He hated it.

For years he was the only male in his class, awkward and clumsy in his own sense. He was always picked to be the male lead in all the recitals, even though everybody knew he wasn't the greatest dancer of all time. And the worst part is his parents wouldn't let him quit, even when they moved from their rink-a-dink little town to the big city. They just transferred Izuru right into a new ballet class at a prestigious Russian dance academy.

So again he stuffed his ballet slippers into his dance bag and boarded the subway to go to dance class. He took a seat by the window, fiddling with the strap on his duffel, watching all the tall gray buildings pass by. The subway slowed and notified him of the next stop, and he tumbled off with little grace.

The academy was not as large as he expected. Albeit it was still very big, he had imagined it would be so much more... impressive. He pulled open the double doors in front and checked in at the front desk, then moseyed over to a bench in the lobby, watching the slim ballerinas kick their pointe shoes against the wall to make them soft and quiet. He slowly took off his tennis shoes and put on his own black ballet slippers. A glance at his watch told him the class was about to start, so he pulled together his things and started up the stairs toward where the secretary had told him his class was to be held. He passed by the open doors to different studios where different types of dance classes were taking place, watching as groups of people twisted and turned and tapped their shiny black shoes, or rose up and down in front of a wall of mirrors, or threw their heads back and their limbs out in sporadic modern dance. He stopped in front of the door to a modern dance classroom, where a lone man with shaggy silver hair tossed himself rhythmically about the studio in a frenzied, beautiful dance. His movements were lithe and clean, his feet precise in their placement. Suddenly, he threw himself into the air in a grand, twisting leap, and Izuru gasped lightly, as it looked like he wouldn't be able to right himself in time to land on his feet. Midair, he caught sight of Izuru and smiled, and with a twist and a light thump, landed perfectly on his feet.

"Aren't ya gonna be late for dance class?" He asked in an accented voice.

"Oh, um, yeah, I guess so." Izuru chewed his lip and turned to leave.

"Are you new here?" The one with silver hair asked.

Izuru glanced about. "Yeah."

"I'm Ichimaru. Nice to meet ya." He slunk forward and held out his hand for Izuru to shake. Izuru shook it warily.

"Kira."

Ichimaru laughed. "You're funny one. Now get to class."

Izuru left Ichimaru with a sense of confusion, only to realize that his class was next door. He pushed open the door and was greeted with a class in chaos, all the dancers chatting and stretching before the dancing commenced. Izuru counted two other guys in the class, and seven other girls. With him, the class now totaled ten. The teacher was a smallish woman with a commanding presence and a kind smile. Her black hair was twisted into a very smooth bun, and her pointe shoes looked well loved and dirty. She clapped her hands together three times, and the class was at attention, everybody looking up from the various things they were doing.

"Alright," She said in a strong, soft voice. "Let's begin, shall we? But first let's welcome our new classmate, Kira Izuru." Nine sets of eyes were turned on Izuru very suddenly. He gave a weak wave, then pulled off his jacket and adjusted the sleeves of his white dance tee. Several of them nodded in approval, including one of the other guys. "We'll start with exercises at the barre." The class gravitated to the barre against a wall of mirrors, resting their left fingers gently against the smooth wood. "We'll begin with pliés and elevés, then we'll move to battement tendus. It'll be simple, but we're only warming up. Ready?" She began to clap a steady rhythm. "Un, deux, trois, start! Plié, deux, trois, quatre, elevé! Deux, trois, quatre, repeat!" Izuru sank and rose in time with her commands, his right arm held at a steady second as his legs tensed. He stared straight ahead at the tidy bun of the girl in front of him, whose hair was a lovely golden rust color, two turquoise flower-shaped pins holding her bangs out of her eyes. Her movements were graceful, he noted, and the teacher changed to the battement tendus. "Okay, now we do battement tendus from first position, keep your arm en bas, four to the front, then plié for four counts, four to the side, then plié, four to the rear, plié and then we'll flow right into the plié-elevé routine." She demonstrated with an imaginary barre, then gestured to the class that it was their turn, and began clapping, watching everybody's legs very closely. Izuru muttered the counts under his breath, in French, as he was taught, the exercise reminding him of when he was very little and first beginning ballet. His teacher would grill him over and over again on pointing his toes and keeping his arm at second all at the same time. To a five year old, that was difficult stuff. Izuru kept his head held high as he flicked his foot out in a tendu.

"Abarai! Watch your supporting leg! Don't let it wiggle around in the middle of your tendu!" The teacher scolded while wiggling one of her own legs around, directing her chastisement at one of the guys, the one with cherry red hair pulled into a bun like the girls'. The one called Abarai grit his teeth and focused on keeping his supporting leg, well, supportive.

* * *

With barre exercises finished, the class moved to the center of the room to work on leaps and the like. Izuru was good at leaps, and could keep himself suspended in air for long periods of time. The teacher, as he had found out was called Unohana, watched in amazement as he demonstrated a flying grand jeté across the room with the rest of the class, gliding perfectly through the air. He landed with as little sound as he could possibly make. Unohana applauded him upon his landing. He managed a small smile before continuing into the rest of the routine.

They finished the routine, and one of the girls doubled over in exhaustion; it appeared that she was a little out of practice, as she had taken a break from ballet over the summer to travel out of the country. Izuru had heard other students chatting about it before class. The girl with the ginger hair and turquoise hairpins patted her on the back, then adjusted the dark haired girl's bun, tucking a straying lock of black-brown hair back into her hairnet. The doubled over girl stood straight again, and thanked the ginger girl with soft brown eyes and a sweet smile. Unohana clapped her hands and smiled widely, catching the attention of the dispersed class.

"We'll have a five minute break for water and such, and then we'll come back and there will be a guest teacher to teach the boys how to do lifts. See you in five!" The class murmured and scattered, pulling water bottles from their bags and taking long drinks. Izuru took a dainty sip from his, and screwed the cap back on as a classmate came over to him. It was the red haired man called Abarai.  
"Hi," He said, sticking out his hand for Izuru to shake. "I'm Abarai Renji."

Izuru shook his hand. "Kira Izuru."

"Man, I'm so glad there's another guy in the class. Yumichika and I were getting lonely. I'm looking forward to dancing with another guy." He smiled broadly, then turned to return to hanging out with a guy with straight black hair that was held behind his ears with bobby pins as he fixed his bun. Izuru supposed the raven-haired boy was Yumichika.

* * *

The class gathered together again, the guest teacher strolling in, and Izuru was surprised to find that it was the man he had met before class in a different studio. Ichimaru, his name was. "I'm Ichimaru Gin," he introduced himself. "A lot of you already know me. Today I'll be showing the boys how to do arabesque lifts properly. Ms. Unohana?" He held out his hand to the teacher, and Unohana took his hand daintily. "Lifts are done in pas de deux dances. I'm sure your class hasn't done many of those, because pas de deux dances are done between male and female. Now, watch closely."  
Unohana rose into a graceful arabesque with help from Ichimaru, and he lifted her with ease by her extended leg and torso. He lifted her above his head, and nodded to the class. "You see?" He looked pointedly at the boys, and Izuru nodded. Ichimaru put down their ballet teacher. "Does anybody want a try?" Nobody stepped forth. "Okay then. Fire truck," he pointed at Renji. "And shrimpy." He pointed at the shortest female dancer. She stomped forward with a snarl.

"My name is _Rukia_." She griped.

"All right then, _Rukia_, you'll arabesque for me. Fire truck, come over here." He motioned for Renji to come closer. "You lift weights?" Ichimaru asked Renji. Renji nodded, and Ichimaru took Renji's hands and placed them on Rukia's waist as she arabesqued. "Good. Now, take your right hand, and support _Rukia's_ waist, a little bit above the hip. Don't ever start a lift with her leg, she'll fall over." Renji placed his right hand where Ichimaru had told him to. "Now take your left hand and support her leg, sort of like how you would hold a tray if you were a waiter. Yes." Renji was now holding Rukia with both hands. "Squat down in second position, keep your elbows in. Nobody likes a chicken for a partner." Ichimaru flapped his elbows and the class giggled, including Izuru, who hid his behind the palm of his hand. "Ms. Unohana?" Unohana stepped into Ichimaru's hands and rose into an arabesque. "Follow what I do, fire truck." Ichimaru grasped Unohana's torso and leg, and squat down. "Un, deux, trois, lift." Renji hoisted Rukia into the air, watching Ichimaru and Unohana from the corner of his eye. "Lift her all the way above your head! Lock your elbows!"

"Rukia, you weigh barely anything. How much do you eat again?" Renji muttered under his breath.

"Shut up." Rukia groused, struggling to keep her toes pointed.

"Fire truck, watch closely. When you set her down, make sure you get her on her toes before you let go. And when you're squatting down again, stick your left leg out, pointing your toes." Ichimaru nodded in Renji's direction, and sank ever so slightly down, cueing Renji to do the same. Renji did as explained, and set Rukia gently on her toes, and let go over her other leg before taking his hands away completely. "Good, good, good." Ichimaru chimed, his hands falling from Unohana's waist. "Now, I see there are two other boys and a lot other girls. How many of the girls would like to try a lift? Boys, you don't get a choice since you're the minority."

All of the girls raised their hands, and Izuru grimaced, knowing he wasn't very strong.

"Okay, then." Ichimaru clapped his hands together, and an unnerving smile crept onto his lips. "Will the other boys step forward, and let's see..." He quickly counted the girls as Izuru and Yumichika stepped forward to join their comrade Renji. "Oh, since there aren't enough girls, Ms. Unohana and I will join them. Girls, create three lines. Boys, prepare yourselves." Izuru and Yumichika flanked Renji on either side, and the girls lined up in front of them, three people in each line. Izuru's legs weakened when Ichimaru stepped into his line.

The first girl stepped forward to Izuru, and he was surprised to find that she did not wear her honey blond hair in a bun like the other girls. Instead, it was so short that she just slicked it back with gel and put bobby pins in it for extra effect. She was a head shorter than Izuru, and he put his hands on her waist to assist her into an arabesque. He lifted her with fair ease, and set her back down very carefully, extending his left leg. She tiptoed to the end of the line afterward, grinning with glee. The next girl stepped forward, and analyzed Izuru with cold, vibrant green eyes, her black hair pulled into a sloppy bun with a red scrunchy. _She must not have had time to do her bun properly_, Izuru thought, but hoisted her into the air none-the-less. Her movements were fluid and graceful.  
Then Ichimaru stepped up. Izuru fought to hide his grimace, and gingerly set his hands on the man's waist. Ichimaru rose into an arabesque on demi pointe, and Izuru grasped him where he was told to, and squat down, bracing himself. His legs tensed, and he lifted the guest teacher into the air, his muscles burning. Oh, he was so heavy. The breath Izuru didn't know he was holding hissed out from between his teeth as he extended his arms above his head. _Un, deux, trois_. Izuru counted, then lowered Ichimaru, his left leg sliding outward. It slid too far on the smooth linoleum, and he almost dropped Ichimaru, setting his feet on the ground before his right knee slammed on the studio floor and his ankle twisted beneath him. Ichimaru whirled around and dropped to a crouch in front of Izuru as Izuru sat on the floor, flexing his right ankle. "You okay, ya?" Ichimaru asked, patting Izuru's knee. Izuru nodded in the affirmative, sweeping his right leg out so that he was sitting with his legs in a wide angle. The rest of the class turned their heads to stare, Yumichika holding Unohana high in the air. Unohana bent herself over backwards so as to assess the situation upside-down from her place in the air.

"I'll be fine." He rolled his ankle once more.

"You're strong boy, Kira. It's hard to lift hefty man like me." Ichimaru stood up and offered Izuru his hand. Izuru took it, pulling his legs together again and standing up. "Keep up the good work. Your movements are very good." Ichimaru patted Izuru on the shoulder.

"Thanks." Izuru murmured, brushing off his backside.

Yumichika set down the teacher, and the whole class swarmed around the slightly limping Izuru. Ichimaru kept a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Uwah, impressive!" One of the girls cried. "Kira, you're so strong." "Was he heavy?" "Way to go!" "Dude, how much do you squat when you're lifting weights?" Renji asked the last question, and Izuru shrugged. He didn't lift weights all that often. "Find me after your class? I like you." Ichimaru breathed in Izuru's ear before he let his hand slide off Izuru's shoulder. Izuru pinkened.

"All right, class." Unohana said in a rather quiet voice that somehow still caught the class's attention. "Let's all thank Mr. Ichimaru for his lesson, and carry on." The class said a chorus of thanks, and Ichimaru waved as he left the room. "Now, shall we begin learning the choreography for the upcoming recital? It uses some of the things we did during the floor exercise before Mr. Ichimaru came." The whole class groaned. "It begins with everybody off stage right. We come onstage in pairs of two, and let's see, I want… Oh, can we line up in order from shortest to tallest?" The class ordered themselves according to height. "Okay." Unohana clapped her hands together. "I want Rukia and Yumichika partnered, Kiyone and Nemu, Shaolin and SunSun, Momo and Izuru, then Renji and Orihime. Remember your partner, and go stand by them." Izuru went to stand by the out-of-practice girl with brown eyes called Momo. She waved daintily to him. "I want Rukia and Yumichika to come onstage first. Rukia and Yumichika, can you go stand by the barre? Next I want Shaolin and SunSun to come on, then Momo and Izuru, then Kiyone and Nemu, and last I want Renji and Orihime to come onstage."

After half an hour, everybody had been assigned the short choreography they would perform on stage, and were now practicing in different sections of the studio. Unohana, impressed with Izuru's strength, incorporated a lift into their short dance. He and Momo practiced this over and over again. It began out with them stepping out onto the stage, holding a pose for a moment, then scurrying to center stage where there was a lift where Izuru lifted Momo, who would throw her left leg out in an devant attitude and her arms in fourth position, and as she was being set back down, she would lower her left leg, and raise right into an arabesque, all the while changing her arms so that the left was extended forward, and the right was pointing back. Izuru would catch her hands after her left foot as sturdily en pointe, and mirror her arabesque, rising on demi pointe. They would hold the arabesque for two and a half beats, then take three steps, still holding hands, and grand jeté together. Then they would continue to take steps as they disengage their right hands and went from back to front to side by side and round to the back of the stage, where Izuru would drop to his right knee, Momo would arabesque penchée with her right leg, and as she lowered her leg, they would look out to the audience as Momo put her right hand on her hip, both waiting shock still as the next pair would perform their short routine. They practiced until the end of class.

* * *

_AN _

_Dear reader who knows ballet: Am I doing things right? Love, sfj. _

_This is so wordy X-X Please tell me what you think_

_sfj  
_


	2. Drinking You Up

Izuru threw his shoes into his duffel and zipped it up, slinging it over his shoulder. He waved good bye to his new classmates, and shuffled out the door, his hands sliding into the pockets of his sweats. Marveling at the tall, arched ceilings of the hallways, he passed the open door to another class. Intrigued by the genre of music blaring from the stereo system, he stopped to watch. It was a hip hop class. He watched as the students stomped their feet and clapped their hands and dropped to the floor and rose again. The class was led by an endowed woman with dark purple-black hair pulled into a high pony tail, dark skin and smiling, cat-like yellow eyes. Izuru blinked and shook his head, and was about to walk off before his eye was caught by the man Ichimaru Gin, dancing to the right of the catty teacher. He spied Izuru and smiled. The deep bass thudded in the space his heart left as it skipped. Ichimaru waved, and Izuru waved weakly back before heading on his way.  
He had gotten three quarters of the way down the hall before someone caught his elbow.

"Would you like to go get a coffee?" Ichimaru Gin asked, withdrawing his hand as soon as he'd gotten Izuru to stop.

"Weren't you helping teach that hip hop class back there?" Izuru shifted his duffel bag on his shoulder, and pulled his hoodie tighter around himself.

Ichimaru shrugged. "Nah, sometimes I just like to pop in on classes like that. Nobody ever really minds. And besides, isn't it a Saturday?"

"Yeah, I guess it is." Izuru chewed his lip with uncertainty.

"So how about it?" Ichimaru insisted. Izuru blinked and realized how close Ichimaru was standing to him.

"O-Okay."

"Great! I have to get my things from the teacher's lounge. Come on." With a face-splitting smile, Ichimaru snagged Izuru's wrist and drug him down the hall to what Izuru assumed was the "teacher's lounge". Ichimaru pushed open the door to the lounge, dropping Izuru's skinny wrist, slinking inside and shoving another teacher's bag off the ugly yellow corduroy couch to reveal his own name-brand dance duffel. Ichimaru pulled off his white dance tee, the corded muscles in his back rippling. Izuru could feel his cheeks get warm, and looked at the worn carpet on the floor. Ichimaru pulled on a light blue tee shirt, and over that a gray sweatshirt. He pulled a pair of Birkenstocks from his bag and threw them on the floor, violently stuffing his feet into them. He zipped his bag shut and slung it over his shoulder, turning on his heel. "Juilliard" was printed in large navy blue letters across his chest. Izuru's jaw dropped.

"Did you go to Juilliard?" Asked Izuru, astounded. Ichimaru pointed at his chest and smiled wider.

"You bet! It's kind of strange, though."

"Why is that?" Izuru pressed, following the dance teacher out the front doors. The secretary watched them leave with a confused look on her face.

"Ya see, I was born here in Japan. But I was raised in Russia in a Japanese-speaking home. I learned English in school, and I went to study at Juilliard when I was eighteen. But before then, I studied at mama's ballet school when I lived in Blagoveshchensk." Izuru blinked at the fantastical place name that was spoken with so much ease. "I also speak a small amount of Chinese, since Blagoveshchensk is just across the river from the city of Heihe in China."

"That's amazing."

"Is it?"

Ichimaru pushed open the door to a cozy café that was just down the street from the ballet academy, both having not realized how short the walk was. They stepped up to the counter, and Ichimaru ordered what sounded like the most complicated drink on the menu, and Izuru ordered a simple hot chocolate, as he wasn't too fond of coffee. Izuru reached for his wallet, and Ichimaru shook his head, handing the barista a bill.

"You didn't have to buy my drink for me." Izuru protested as they went to sit in a booth next to the window.

"It's not problem." Ichimaru flicked his wrist, brushing off Izuru's complaints.

"If you say so." Izuru trailed off. He stared out the window for a moment, then turned back to the silver haired teacher sitting before him. "What was it like to study at Juilliard?" He leaned forward and put his chin in his hands.

"Stunning." Ichimaru said, copying Izuru's forward motion. "I don't think I could put it in words. It… didn't have the same home-like feeling as learning in mama's ballet studio did when I was small, though."

"I bet that it was fun to learn how to dance from your parents. My parents probably couldn't dance to save their lives." Izuru laughed lightly. Ichimaru mimicked the laugh with a deeper tone, and templed his fingers. "They put me in ballet when I was four, and I've been dancing ever since."

"And how old are you?" Ichimaru asked.

"Sixteen."

"Uoh, you are young one." Ichimaru leaned back, hunching his shoulders and letting out a long breath.

"Why, how old are you?" Izuru tipped his head to the side.

"Twenty-eight."

"Gah!" Izuru choked, blushing.

"I don't feel that old, though." Ichimaru shrugged. Izuru's mouth floundered for words, and a barista in a black apron brought them their drinks. Ichimaru took a sip of his coffee, and smiled so broad the corners of his mouth almost disappeared into the fringe of his silver hair.

* * *

Finishing their drinks, Ichimaru and Izuru bussed their cups, gathered their duffels, and began to leave the café, still chattering about the difference between Italian and Russian ballet. Sunshine streamed down on them, and before Izuru could start to walk down the sidewalk like he assumed they would, Ichimaru grabbed Izuru by the elbow, and drug him down a small side street. "Mr. Ichimaru, where are we going?" Izuru asked, stumbling along behind Ichimaru. Ichimaru whirled around, grabbing the fabric of Izuru's sweatshirt, and pushed Izuru up against a brick wall. The back of Izuru's head slammed against the dirty wall, and he let out a small gasp, white momentarily blotting out his vision. Ichimaru's skeleton hands left Izuru's hoodie, and prodding fingers gripped either side Izuru's face, forcing the blond boy to look directly in Ichimaru's burning aqua eyes. Izuru exhaled out through his mouth, his cornflower blue eyes spread open wide as they regained sight. He could feel a blush creeping up his chest and over his collarbone. And before he had the chance to open his mouth to cry out, he was silenced by a set of lips.

Ichimaru hushed Izuru with a closed-mouth kiss. Izuru squirmed, his fingers scrabbling against the rectangle bricks behind him. The back of his head throbbed, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut. Ichimaru took a step back and let go of Izuru's face, taking a deep breath in, and Izuru's legs turned straight to jelly and gave out beneath him. He lurched forward from the brick wall and dropped to his knees at Ichimaru's sandaled feet. "Whoops!" Ichimaru exclaimed, and squat down next to the quivering Izuru. He put a long hand on Izuru's shoulder, then trailed his chilly fingers under Izuru's chin, and pushed his blond hair out of his eyes. Tucking Izuru's hair behind his ear, Ichimaru sat on the pebbly asphalt, and took Izuru's face softly in both hands. Izuru lifted his eyes from the ground to look Ichimaru in the open electric cyan eyes. His lips quivered from the forceful display of what might have been affection. "Now, Kira, you're not going ta say a word 'bout this, right?"  
Izuru shook his head minutely. "No, sir." He croaked. He could feel a migraine coming on, one of the ones that have haunted him since he was very small.

"You're good boy, Kira. It's why I like you." Ichimaru stood up in a fluid motion, and held out his hand to Izuru. Izuru shakingly took it and was helped to his feet. He clutched Ichimaru's elbow while his vertigo left.

Slowly, Ichimaru and Izuru walked to the subway station. When together they sat on a bench to wait for Izuru's sub, Izuru gathered enough stamina to speak. "S-sorry I fell, Mr. Ichimaru."

"Don't you worry about it." Ichimaru laughed, looking out into the crowd of people. "And feel free to call me Gin, okay?"

Izuru nodded his head and gulped. The crowd around them surged as a new crowd merged from another train. Izuru's train was called, and they stood up in unison, Gin snatching Izuru's elbow before he lurched forward and into the pitching mass of people. Gin led Izuru to the train that had just pulled up that would take him home. They were kept behind the white line until the passengers boarding off the train had set both feet firmly on the platform and the doorway was clear. Gin let go of Izuru's elbow to let him board. Izuru was swept up by the crowd of people, then: "Kira!" Izuru whirled, and his shoulders were caught in strong hands. The toes of his shoes teetered on the edge of the door's threshold, and he grabbed the doorframe for support. He looked up and cold lips brushed his own. Instinctively, he softly shut his eyes and leaned forward.

A whistle was blown and Gin's lank hands pushed Izuru back as the automatic doors almost clipped off his nose and crushed his fingers. He looked out the scratched windows of the subway's doors, and Gin waved to him, his sick smile making Izuru's stomach flip. "Kira." Gin mouthed with a smirk. Izuru's gut was jolted at the same time the sub lurched. Slowly Izuru turned around and leaned on the doors, attempting to rest the back of his head on the cool metal. He groaned in pain as the goose egg on the back of his skull throbbed at the touch of another object. Grimacing, Izuru crouched down and felt the back of his head with gentle fingers. Yup. Bruise the size of a 500 yen piece. Maybe bigger. His migraine ebbed and he shut his eyes. Light always made his migraines worse.  
"Sir?" Somebody asked, and Izuru lifted his head and cracked one eye barely open. "Are you okay?" The soft face of a woman with flowing ginger hair swam before Izuru. "Would you like to sit down? It wouldn't be good to sit there when the doors open."

"I'm fine." Izuru cracked open his other eye, his migraine not as bad as he was expecting it to be. He lifted his chin higher.

"Hey," the voluptuous woman said. "You're the kid who started going to Akademiya today. In Ms. Unohana's advanced ballet class. I'm Matsumoto Rangiku, I teach the Latin dancing class there." She held her hand out to Izuru. Izuru stared at it, unsure if she meant for him to shake it, or if she was offering to help him up. "Let me help you up." Izuru grasped her soft hand and was pulled to his feet. He was pushed to a seat and forced to sit down. Rangiku plopped down next to him. "What's your name, kid?"

"Kira Izuru." Izuru answered, his eyes burning in their sockets. Turns out looking at bright things wasn't such a good idea, as it provoked his incubating excruciating migraine.

"What a cute name." Rangiku sighed. "Hey, don't let Gin harass you like that, okay? I'm friends with him, but the truth is he's a little bit of a creep. Even though he can dance to beat the band. You've seen him, right? It's insane! Especially when he dances modern. I swear gravity doesn't apply to him." Rangiku leaned her head back, and Izuru tried not to watch out the window. "I'm serious, though. About Gin not harassing you. I saw what he did back there." She shook her head. "He likes to prey on kids like you, Izuru, and don't let him do that. He'll destroy your youth."

"I'm not that young." Izuru protested. "I'm sixteen and a half years old!" His head pulsated.

Rangiku gasped. "You're young! Just a baby!" She placed a hand over her heart and endowed bust. "Even more reason for you to watch out." The next stop was announced. "I have to get off here. Please take care of yourself, Izuru, and keep Gin at a far distance. You seem like a nice guy." Rangiku smiled and patted Izuru's knee. She stood up and merged into the sea of people getting off at the stop announced. Izuru rubbed his forehead and curled up in the fetal position against the wall of the rocking sub, ducking his head so he didn't have to look out the window. He shut his eyes and waited for his stop to be announced.

In his mind he practiced the new routine he and the brown-eyed girl Momo had just been assigned today. Halfway through he had to stop. Was ballet really where his heart was at? His soul was troubled now. Gin had swept in and in a matter of an hour had scrambled Izuru's thoughts like eggs. Izuru thought for a moment. Maybe he should take up hip hop? It would certainly be a change in culture and scenery. He would talk to his parents about it tonight over dinner, and he hoped that they'd let him. They tended to rivet him to culturally pure things, such as ballet or haiku.

Izuru's stop was called, and he slowly rose as to avoid vertigo, and stumbled off the sub with a mass of other people.

* * *

_AN: _

_Finally! Some inspiration for this... thing! _

_Enjoy, please :)_

_sfj  
_


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